


The Tempest

by Vespertilia



Category: Dissidia Duodecim: Final Fantasy
Genre: Consensual Sex, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Mild Blood, Mild Femdom, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 22:33:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15650253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vespertilia/pseuds/Vespertilia
Summary: In the wake of a particularly intense skirmish, Lightning has a surplus of adrenaline to work off, and Squall looks like a perfect outlet.





	The Tempest

From the moment the manikins arrived, their crystalline visages a mockery of her friends and foes alike, Lightning took a deep inward breath and could think of nothing else but breath itself.

 

Cut across the chest. Breathe in. Swordplay is easy.

 

Freeze another in its tracks. Breathe out. Ice magic is second nature.

 

Shoot the head off of one that looked a little bit like Laguna if she squinted. Breathe in. The gunblade transformation sequence was as simple to her now as wiggling her fingers.

 

Breathe out.

 

Breathe in.

 

Breathe out.

 

Adrenaline carried the soldier well past the point of exhaustion.  She recognized that she was in pain, but only insofar as she recognized the signals her body was sending to her brain. Manikins were mindless things, but the sheer damned number of them meant that even someone as  talented as Lightning wouldn't emerge completely unscathed. By the time she was through, she'd taken down at least twenty of them, and all she had to show for it was messy hair and a handful of bruises. She was about to allow herself a slump against a nearby rock wall, then finally take a good long gasp for air, when she heard a small grunt of anguish about twenty meters behind her.

 

Had Squall been there the whole time?

 

Turning fully around to look at the young man, a thin sheen of sweat coating his fair skin, Lightning gave him a slightly quizzical look. If he’d been near when she’d arrived in this bleak, dark, rocky area, she hadn’t noticed, and he hadn’t cared to alert her. Then again, that was pretty typical. Lightning had always liked Squall; his taciturn, practical attitude was something she respected and understood, and the two had worked fairly well together in the past because they didn’t really want or need to talk to each other. It was the kind of connection that she didn’t need to acknowledge any more than her own two feet. In other words, the kind of connection she could trust.

 

As she approached him and the two warriors acknowledged each other with the slightest of nods, Lightning scanned him up and down. It occurred to her, as she did so, that she’d never taken the time to look at him-- really _look at him_. How he’d managed to keep himself so fresh-looking was beyond her, but Squall Leonhart was really quite the specimen of a young man. He was tall and lithe, with ravishing dark brown hair, steely blue eyes and impeccable fashion sense. In his fatigue, the fur-trimmed black jacket hung off of his shoulders, and the white shirt beneath it tactfully exposed a defined collarbone, smooth shoulders, and a supple, flawless throat.

 

No. Not flawless. He’d been cut. She could see it now, standing just two meters away. There was a decently long laceration on his beautiful neck, and if he knew about it, he didn’t let on as much.

 

“You okay?” he asked, breaking the silence with that smooth, low bedroom voice of his.

“Yeah,” she replied, still a little winded. “You’ve got a little… here, I’ll get it.”

Even with the “huh?” that might have counted as an objection from someone else, Squall lightly set his shimmering gunblade on the ground beside him to allow Lightning to approach him that much closer. With the tiniest practiced flourish, she removed a small cloth from the pouch on her left thigh and raised it upward, gripping Squall by the back of the head and lightly yanking it to one side. Damn, but that throat. Dabbing at it with the cloth, hearing him hiss slightly as adrenaline began to leave him, almost felt like a sex act. She had to remind herself that she was cleaning him, not bathing him… as much fun as that would be.

 

“Is it bad?” His voice broke him out of her reverie. She could feel her cheeks burning-- all the more reason to keep his eyes away from her.  
“No. You’ll be fine in a few minutes.” One more outward breath, almost like a heavy sigh, and she released him, folding the cloth to stow it again.

 

Before she was done doing that, though, he just had to tease her some more. There’s no way in hell he knew what he was doing, of course. He was just cracking his neck a little after she’d held it at a weird angle for a few seconds. But the flexing of that neck, the rolling of those trim shoulders, the soft breaths of relief from those delectable lips of his. The quiet utterance of “thanks” fell on the deafest of ears. His adrenaline had worn off, but hers had not, and the line between aggression and arousal had always been so very, very thin.

 

Blue eyes met. Lightning could sense-- even if she couldn’t really feel-- that her own blue was being overtaken by a swiftly dilating pupil. Instinct returned to her, and just as she had thoughtlessly sliced a manikin in half, she was equally thoughtless in leaning forward, lips parting.

“Lightning?” His voice, always so quiet, was now even quieter, an almost panicked whisper. “What are you  _doing_?”

  
“Nothing,” she lied, finally unable to resist getting a taste of his pouting lips. The tiny  _smek_  sound of her kiss might as well have been as loud as a jet engine for how conspicuous it felt echoing in the open night air. She held it either for a second or an hour. Either way, his own eyes were just as black as hers when they met one more time. When he spoke, it was the quietest so far, a tiny, almost inaudible plea.

 

“ _Do it again_.”

He didn’t actually have to say that, but the spoken invitation was icing on cake. A deep breath in, and Lightning was clinging to that jacket, pulling it down over those shoulders, and absolutely  _devouring_  those full, pouting, delicious lips. For his part, Squall tugged his gloves off with admirable dexterity and clung tightly to Light’s waist, but it was Lightning who pulled their bodies together, and she wasn’t gentle about it. His jacket safely discarded behind him, she began roughly feeling him up, grinning a bit into the kiss as her hands traced over a nicely toned stomach obscured by the thin fabric of his shirt. Of course he was in crazy good shape-- a man of his skill had to be-- but how he managed to keep everything so smooth was anyone’s guess. Up to his chest now, taking in the way his soft skin yielded beneath her. So goddamn soft, but beneath that silky skin was nice lean muscle, the kind of thing that came from tons of cardio. She’d had enough feeling at her prize from beneath the wrapping paper, though. It was time to really dig in.

 

The shirt was off in less than a second, haphazardly thrown to one side, before Lightning gripped him by his ass and carried him, tongue forced down his throat all the way, up to the rock wall she’d been poised to rest on just a minute prior. He was grinding on her now, his tight pants feeling incredibly prohibitive under her palms, and she had to chuckle a little at just how game he was for her to take him and use him like this. Had he thought about this happening? Had he fantasized about it? Maybe rubbed one out at the thought of being manhandled by the pretty lady with the pink hair? Judging by the swiftness with which he undid his belt and kicked off his boots, and by the rough groaning she got out of him every time she scratched at his back, he’d either thought about it too much or not at all. Insight or instinct had led to this moment. It didn’t really matter which.

 

It didn’t surprise her that neither of them were saying anything (neither of them had ever really been talkers), but what did surprise her was how much it stung-- and how _wonderful_ that sting felt-- to hear such a quiet, composed man let out a compulsory swear. She’d shown off her impressive strength by holding him up even while pulling his pants down to his thighs, and the precise moment when Squall’s cock sprung out was accompanied perfectly by his rough, seething “oh,  _fuck_!” She swore that she’d never felt so gratified, so smug, and so turned on just from someone dropping an f-bomb. Once the pants had been dealt with (yet another garment Lightning flung to one side), she shoved him against the wall with incredible force, their foreheads pressed together, their bodies coated in sweat, each breath a feverish growl of lust. A gloved hand gripped Squall’s shaft tight and squeezed it mercilessly. Even through the rough material of her gloves, Lightning could feel the girth of him almost straining against itself, soft skin desperately trying in vain to contain muscle and blood and heat. She had him figured for about five inches-- maybe six-- but he was pretty damn thick, and judging by the look on his face, he was sensitive too. Or maybe she was just that strong?

 

Finally, she’d finished playing with her food and lowered Squall to the rocky floor. His heaving naked body was splayed out in front of her, a cornucopia for her senses. For just a moment, she admired both his figure and her own handiwork. He still hadn’t caught his breath and wasn’t likely to for a few minutes. Each gasp, backed up by a steady rolling of his toned abdomen, was such exquisite pornography. His erection, thick, healthy, and shrouded, stood directly up, straight as an arrow and firm as a bullet. Looming over him like a panther, she wordlessly reached up her skirt, sliding her panties down and stepping out of them with just one foot. There was no time for her to make a show for him. She was more than horny now. She was in heat, her heart pounding in her chest, her arousal already trickling down her thighs, the smell of sex a heavy miasma around them both. She crouched, then fell to her knees, looking Squall dead in the eyes as their bodies shifted to prepare for their sudden act. That eye contact persisted as she finally sat down on his lap, gritting her teeth as he slid inside effortlessly.

 

She couldn’t recall the last time she’d been this wet or that cock had felt this good. His head lolled back in mere moments and he barely moved, and that was just how she liked it. He had submitted, and there was no fight left in him if he’d ever had any to begin with. Squall kept the soft gasps and groans coming, rolling his beautiful neck forward to look at her again, still not saying a word, still not needing to. She let herself speak up a bit, even if just to moan and whine, her own heaving breaths timed perfectly with his in one of so many acts of perfect subconscious sync. Before she even really knew it, she’d slipped off her gloves and was cupping his face in her palms, leaning her head on his, moaning into his mouth.

 

Soon, Lightning’s hands moved south. She couldn’t get enough of that chest; she scratched and rubbed and pressed on it, taking in each sensation and the reactions she got out of him, watching his fingers compulsively curl, hearing his inhibition crack long enough for him to moan. She ached so good, taking just a moment to rest on top of him and flex around his cock in a display of flawless pompoir, drinking in the expansion she endured to accommodate him, to engulf him and claim him as her plaything. So damn satisfying.  
  
Squall had a knack, though, for snapping her out of a pleasant daze. This time, it was just a grunt, something sudden and panicked, and she opened her eyes to see him gritting his teeth. His body was tense beneath him. She wasn’t sure whether to roll her eyes or egg him on, but she knew that his own sensitivity and endurance put a cap on how long they could go. Nodding a little to affirm what he hadn’t told her, she sat fully upright, lifting up her skirt and pressing two fingers firmly against her clit. The sudden introduction of an imminent finish line gave her a second wind like no other, and she rode him fast and hard, rubbing herself at breakneck speed, needing more than  _anything_  to finish before he did, to get everything she was here for.

 

“Come inside me.”

 

She said it to him only when she was ready to, almost daring him to give in before he had her permission. With him fully under her control, though, the climax was simultaneous, and both of them cried out in ecstasy. Squall even gripped Lightning by the hips and started thrusting for the first time in this reckless mockery of a tryst, pumping her full of his seed as she spasmed around him and milked him absolutely dry. She rode her climax for as long as she could, not stopping fully until she managed to come down from her peak. When she’d leaked all over him was a mystery to her, but there it was, a massive puddle of essence of Lightning staining Squall’s lap. The sight of it made her laugh in spite of herself, and in retrospect, she’d find it cruel that she produced the same cloth from before and dropped it right on Squall’s sweaty, shimmering stomach.   
  
“Clean yourself up.”

 

“Bitch.” The moment he said it, he tensed a little bit more, as if fearing reprisal even for the crime of being playful, but all she could do was smile and give him a little peck on the forehead as she stood up, still reeling just a little bit. As she leaned against the sheer rock face, an act now a good fifteen minutes overdue, Squall did indeed clean himself up as best he could, wiping his deflating cock and the surrounding area.   
  
By the time Squall had retrieved all of his scattered clothing and redressed himself, Lightning was gone, having made her lackadaisical egress somewhere between him finally fastening his belts (of which he had several) and getting his jacket back on. He’d heard the metaphor of two ships passing in the night, and the thought of it brought him a bit of a chuckle. It wasn’t entirely apt-- he’d almost certainly see her again-- but it was an entertaining notion: two wayward vessels desperately clinging to each other in a raging storm, only to go their separate ways, to their separate ports, once the storm had passed.

 

As she made her way to the barrier that would shepherd her to the next leg of her mission, Lightning had far less romantic things on her mind.  
  
“Shit. I hope I’m not pregnant.”


End file.
